


Idea So Meta, Even The Acronym

by memorizingthedigitsofpi



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Crack, Gen, Meta, as is the swearing, intrusive narrator, march madness fic tournament winner, the sarcasm is strong in this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-06-01 06:46:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6505495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memorizingthedigitsofpi/pseuds/memorizingthedigitsofpi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What would happen if the characters of Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. were watching the show Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.? [no longer updating]</p><p>Winner of my March Madness Fic Tournament over on tumblr!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Idea So Meta, Even The Acronym

Phil Coulson walked into Director Fury’s office and into a whole new world of weird. 

And when _Phil Coulson_  says things are weird, they’re… really weird. 

Fury was standing with his back to the room, looking out of his office window with his feet shoulder-width apart and his hands clasped behind his back. He was wearing a black leather trench coat and the kind of boots that would make an emo teen weep with jealousy. 

Nick Fury didn’t believe in “business casual.”

Coulson recognized his stance as the standard, ‘I’m pondering important, saving-the-world type shit right now, but I called you in here to talk so I’ll be with you in a second,’ pose. This is what I mean when I say that Coulson knows weird. This is a standard pose in his boss’s arsenal, and that doesn’t even register as _odd_  for Coulson.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” Coulson said politely. He adopted the expected stance of ‘Senior Agent waiting to be told about some fucking _crazy_  bullshit and determined not to let that register in any way in his face or body language.’ What that means is, he stood in front of the exact centre of the Director’s desk, just behind the two guest chairs, with his hands clasped loosely in front of him and his shoulders at a height that would indicate ‘at ease’ if he were in the military.

Which he wasn’t.

S.H.I.E.L.D. was a data collection agency, after all. Nothing military about it. Or para-military. Or military-industrial. Nope. Nothing at all. 

Are you convinced?

Unlike his boss, Phil Coulson could have fit in at any accounting firm or car sales office. He wore an unassuming suit and a nondescript tie, and he had the kind of face that was pleasant to look at but was forgotten as soon as he left the room. 

It was a very useful kind of face to have in his business.

His business that did not in _any way_  include undercover operations or espionage of any sort. 

Still buying it?

Once Fury felt that there had been a suitable enough pause to build up some serious gravitas, he turned around to speak to his subordinate. 

Against all expectations, and counter to most people’s experiences, his boots did _not_  squeak on the shiny floor when he did this. 

“Phil,” he said, gesturing to one of the two chairs in front of his desk. 

The room was well over 1000 sq. ft. and yet it was barren except for the desk and those chairs. Between that and the entire wall of floor to ceiling windows, there was probably some sort of message being sent about the halls of power and the dangers of excess. 

Or maybe he’d just moved in and the ping pong table hadn’t been delivered yet. 

Coulson shrugged off the offer to sit down. He knew Fury preferred him to talk while he was standing because of the eye thing. 

Oh yeah. Fury, on top of the all-black ensemble with the thigh holster and the full-zip turtleneck, also had a bigass eyepatch doing a poor job of covering up a scar on his face. 

He had some problems with depth perception as a result.

“What do you need, sir?” Coulson asked, not at all seeming to brace himself for bad news. 

It was like he’d never been in that office before or something. 

“Coulson,” Fury said matter-of-factly as he took a seat at his desk. “I want you and your team to work with ABC Studios to create a one-hour serial drama about your jobs.”

Coulson actually blinked at that one. He thought he’d heard it all, but he shouldn’t have assumed. This made ‘Go babysit a billionaire who made a supersuit’ seem like a normal Tuesday.

Which, admittedly, it pretty much was.

“You want us to _what_?” he asked, his face looking as perplexed as he ever allowed it to. 

Just as an aside, Coulson is an internationally-ranked poker player. Well, one of his covers is, at least. 

Oh shit. I just let the spy thing out of the bag, didn’t I?

Don’t tell Fury. 

“I think you’re forgetting a ‘sir’ in there somewhere,” Fury observed, settling back in his desk chair and steepling his fingers over his stomach. He tilted his head but otherwise didn’t indicate his displeasure.

Where do you think Coulson got his poker face from?

“You want us to what, _sir_?” Coulson corrected himself. He’d be standing at attention now, if this were a militar…

You know what? Fuck it. They’re spies. Militant spies. Spies with guns and helicopters and cool technology shit, and they save the world like twice before breakfast. 

Moving on. 

“Isn’t S.H.I.E.L.D. supposed to be kind of, y’know, under the radar?” Coulson asked. He was obviously not privy to what his narrator was saying. 

It was always difficult to read Director Fury’s expression, what with the eyepatch and all, but now it had gone from merely unreadable to completely blank. Like, take out a white sheet of paper and look at it, and you’ll get more information than you would from Fury’s face at this moment is what I’m saying. Take a photograph of the man and hold it up next to his face and _neither one_  will change expression any time soon. You get my drift?

Pulling a remote control out of a hidden panel on his desk that you just know he thinks is supremely cool but never geeks out over in front of his subordinates, Fury hit a button and a series of holographic televisions appeared behind Coulson. 

Remember when I said they had cool technology shit? Case in fucking point. 

“Flying under the radar is no longer an option,” he said, nodding toward each screen in turn. One showed Tony Stark doing yet another Iron Man press conference, a second showed Captain America alive and well and not at all in his 90′s, and a third had live coverage of an unnamed muscular black man apparently flying over Washington with mechanical wings.

Super subtle guys. Well done. Slow clap for all of you.

“Now it’s all about controlling the message,” Fury explained. 

And that’s when Coulson got that feeling in his gut that told him shit was about to get _weird_.


End file.
